


Stand By Me

by flamewarrior



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Mpreg, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-16
Updated: 2007-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewarrior/pseuds/flamewarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge can be sweet for everyone involved – eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand By Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illianor](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=illianor).



_September 1997_

Raucous barks of laughter echoed around the damp, brick walls.

“To Lucius Malfoy, showing his true, weak colours at last!”

“To Lucius!”

“To Lucius!”

“Lucius!”

The clink of glass and the sound of fine wine swigged from the bottle was followed by more hoots and snorts of laughter.

Rabastan Lestrange proposed another toast: “And to his whimpering, nancy boy son – to Draco!”

The Carrows laughed in unison.

“He’ll make a fine bitch for some man, one day.”

Alecto snorted at her brother’s joke, catching Greyback’s eye as she glugged down a Lothlorien 1722. He grinned at her and let the tip of his tongue touch down on his lower lip.

“But what use is a bitch that can’t whelp?”

Greyback’s voice was slow and deliberate. Alecto grinned back at him, nodding.

“An excellent point, Fenrir. I’m sure we could remedy that, with the right combination of knowledge and power – don’t you think so, Bas?”

Rabastan eyes stared at Alecto from his starkly thin face.

“You mean the _Sullarsenico_ , I presume.” He sniffed. “Yes, it could be achieved, but it seems a great deal of effort to expend on such a worthless excuse for a Pureblood.”

“But such a satisfying way to humiliate Lucius.”

At his own words, Greyback’s grin became a lear, and Alecto and her brother sniggered in unison. A considering look came across Rabastan’s face.

“Well,” he replied eventually, “when you put it like that…” and raised his bottle.

 

*

 _August 1999_

Draco looked at the sleeves of the new robe Mother had insisted he purchase. The fabric was lovely, a heavy, matt silk in dusty blue-grey, and Madam Malkin had spelled a delicate filigree design over the cuffs in silver thread.

He was here in her shop for a fitting, the final one, for which he was profoundly grateful. He had to steel himself for every visit to Diagon Alley now; he knew his mother’s insistence on this robe was her way of telling him it was time to find a backbone and venture out in public once again. The Malfoy name was no longer guaranteed to gain the best in everything, and he had had to begin to learn an entirely new set of manners.

“It’s beautiful, Madam Malkin. I very much appreciate the care and attention you’ve paid to this commission.”

“I take pride in all my work, Mr. Malfoy, no matter who it’s for.”

Draco felt flustered by her reply, the tone of her voice; he was almost certain she had intended it as an insult. He felt his cheeks warming

“Yes, yes, of course. Your reputation for quality is second to none.”

Madam Malkin pursed her lips and made a non-committal sound. Fortunately for Draco, at that moment the door-bell rang, announcing another customer’s entrance into the shop, and her attention was diverted from him to the new arrival.

“Oh, Mr. Potter. How lovely to see you! The Saviour of the Wizarding World is always welcome in my humble establishment.”

Draco cringed at Madam Malkin’s simpering. He looked up and was surprised to see a similar expression on Potter’s face. He diverted his attention before Potter caught him looking, and took off his new robe, placing it back on its hanger.

Madam Malkin had disappeared into the back of the shop, and Potter was standing not far from Draco, looking uncomfortable and gazing round at the display robes. Draco took a few calming breaths; he wouldn’t get another opportunity like this. He took two small steps towards Potter and cleared his throat.

“Hello.”

“Huh?” Potter looked at him as if trying to get his eyes to focus. “Oh, Malfoy. Um, hello.”

“Look, Potter, I, uh, I have something I need to say to you.” Draco was speaking quickly; he hoped he wasn’t garbling his words. “I wanted to thank you, for saving my life – and Greg’s. It was… it was very decent of you, especially after everything I...” His voice faded and he almost lost his nerve, then he straightened his back and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

He looked up at Potter’s face: he had raised his eyebrows and his mouth was slightly open, but, finally, he extended his arm, took Draco’s hand in his own and shook it. Draco’s sigh of relief was interrupted by the jolt that travelled up his arm when Potter’s warm palm met his own.

After a moment, he realised, with some embarrassment, that he was holding on to Potter’s hand far longer than decorum allowed. He let go and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Well, it’s…” Potter looked like he didn’t know what to say. He ran his fingers through his fringe. “You’re welcome. That’s… it’s all in the past, now.”

Potter’s gaze passed over Draco’s face, as if he was considering something. Draco blinked, as if emerging from a dream.

“I’d better go,” he said. “Mother will be waiting for me. It’s been… well, goodbye, Potter.”

Just as Draco reached the door, Potter spoke, the quiet voice stopping him in his tracks.

“Hey, Malfoy, do you want to go for a drink some time – the Leaky Cauldron, maybe, this Saturday afternoon?”

Draco turned to face him, his surprise rendering him momentarily speechless. He licked his lips, eyes darting across Potter’s features, looking for any signs that this was a joke or a trick. When he saw none, he found himself smiling.

“Why yes, yes, I’d like that very much.”

Potter tilted his head and smiled back.

“I’ll see you there, then. Three o’clock?”

Draco nodded and made his way out of the shop. It took him the whole of his walk to the back of the Leaky Cauldron to identify the fizzing sensation in his gut as happiness.

 

*

 _September 1999_

The light from the candle in the wall-sconce above them cast a golden shimmer around Harry’s hair. They had met fewer than ten times in this corner of The Leaky Cauldron, but already this particular setting and the peculiar fact of their meeting felt familiar. Draco was constantly surprised by how little awkwardness there was in their conversation, by how much he enjoyed listening to Harry talk about his godson, Teddy, by the warmth which had grown up between them in so short a time.

But he wasn’t about to question it. He’d spent too long being snubbed and slurred and spat on in the street to risk scaring off his good fortune. And there was also the fact that Harry had become, well, beautiful. Being close to this lean-limbed young man with his easy, muscular grace was a pleasure in itself.

“Sickle for your thoughts?”

Harry’s amused question lifted Draco from his reverie. He lifted his eyes from the whisky tumbler in his hands and smiled.

“Oh, just doing my best not to think anything that would scare away my good luck.”

Harry crinkled his brow in puzzlement and took a sip of his Old Ogden’s.

“What good luck’s that then?”

Draco jostled Harry’s knee gently with his own. He should probably stop drinking soon, or he’d do something stupid.

“You.”

Or, indeed, say something stupid. Draco could feel the skin on his face becoming warm. He put his glass down carefully on the table and started to stand.

“Time to go to the little boys’ room.”

Harry put a hand on his knee and pressed down firmly, sitting Draco back down in his seat. The warmth shifted from Draco’s face to spread all the way down to his legs and back up to his groin. He looked down at where Harry’s hand still rested on his lower thigh.

“Draco, why did you do it?”

Draco looked up at Harry’s face. He was leaning in, nose only a couple of inches from Draco’s own. His gaze was intense. Draco found that he barely had breath to speak.

“What?”

“Why did you do what Voldemort told you to?”

Draco’s mouth was suddenly dry and his hands started trembling. _Stop_ , he thought, _please stop_ , but he couldn’t get any sound out past his growing nausea.

“I saw you, last year, through Voldemort’s eyes, casting _Crucio_ on people. You hated it.”

Draco couldn’t feel his fingers properly and there were pops and flashes of darkness and bright light at the edges of his vision.

“So why did you do it?”

Draco’s head was spinning. He worked his tongue to bring some moisture back into his mouth.

“I…”

And then black covered everything.

 

*

Draco lay in a tumble of limbs on top of the eiderdown. It wasn’t quite the recovery position, but as near as Harry had been able to get him; Draco was heavier than he looked.

Harry let his eye travel over the body lying in front of him, from the wisps of hair sticking up at the top of Draco’s head to his surprisingly long toes. He reached out and smoothed the hair down. He decided he liked the sight of Draco like this, face relaxed, skin glowing in contrast to the dark green of the bed covers and the deep blue of his robe.

He passed his hand over Draco’s hair again, enjoying the softness of it under his fingers. He must have pressed harder than he’d thought, because Draco’s eyelids fluttered and he drew in a snuffly breath. Harry pulled his hand back and watched Draco wake up.

“Hi.”

Draco wrinkled his brow in Harry’s direction and made a questioning sound.

“You passed out. I brought you over to my place. How are you feeling?”

“Hm.” Draco pushed himself up on his right elbow. “A bit woozy.” He paused, looking up at Harry through half-lidded eyes.

“I’m not sorry I asked,” Harry said quietly, “if you’re waiting for an apology.”

Draco made a funny little sideways movement with his head that could have been ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘okay’ or ‘you’ve got me, there’, or even ‘I don’t really know what you’re talking about’. Draco closed his eyes again, as if he was considering whether or not to go to sleep, then opened them and sat up, wrinkling the eiderdown as he crossed his legs beneath him. He stretched. Harry watched him as he rolled his shoulders and let out a deep breath.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any Firewhiskey about.”

Harry smiled.

“I’d have thought you’d want food, but if it’s whiskey that you want. Kreacher?”

He enjoyed the look on Draco’s face when Kreacher appeared – utter astonishment.

“Master is calling.”

“Some pâté and toast please, Kreacher, and a bottle of Firewhiskey with a couple of tumblers.”

“Yes, Master.”

Kreacher Disapparated and returned too quickly for Draco to say anything about him in the interim. He now bore an armload of toast, pâté of different kinds, two cut crystal whisky tumblers and a matching decanter of amber liquid. As he placed it on the bedside table, smoke began pouring gently out underneath the stopper.

“Efficient house-elf you have there, Harry,” Draco commented once Kreacher had disappeared. “Do I recognise him?”

Harry laughed.

“You might. He belonged to the Black family. You’re at number 12, Grimmauld Place.”

Harry stopped laughing when he noticed Draco had gone pale.

“Are you okay? You’re not going to pass out again?”

Draco shook his head and half-filled a tumbler with Firewhiskey, downing it in one. When he put his glass down he was looking at Harry with clear eyes and his mouth set in a determined line.

“Why did you want to know about it now?”

“About…? Oh, that.” Harry paused, thrown by Draco’s question. He didn’t really want to tell Draco, at least not yet, but perhaps… “Will you answer if I tell you?”

Draco pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded.

“I’m going to need you just to listen, not interrupt or anything.”

Draco nodded again. Harry nodded back slowly and took a deep breath.

“Okay then. The long and the short of it is, I’ve got to really like you, Draco, since we met at Madam Malkin’s this year. It was complete impulse, asking you for a drink: instinct. I’ve had an instinct lately that it would be good to get to know you better.” Harry swallowed and looked straight into Draco’s eyes, hoping they could convey the meaning he wasn’t yet ready to speak. “A lot better.

“But there are some things I don’t understand about you, like why you carried on following Voldemort, did all those awful things that you hated doing, after Dumbledore’d offered you his help. I think I need to understand things like that, if I’m going to get to know you the way I’d like to.”

Harry could see Draco’s jaw clenching and the muscles around it working as they looked at each other across the bed. Draco closed his eyes. When he spoke his voice was quiet and controlled, but there was an edge to it, as if he wanted to shout or cry.

“All sorts of reasons. For one, Dumbledore was dead and I didn’t trust anyone else in his anti-Death-Eater club; I didn’t really trust him, come to that. For another, I didn’t want to give the Dar… Voldemort any excuse to kill my parents. Not that he needed excuses to kill people.” Draco’s opened his eyes and looked straight into Harry’s own. “But neither of those were really important.

“You want to know why I kept going on the wrong side even after everything, Harry? Because I stand by my family. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done or why they’ve done it, or whether they’re in the right or the wrong. I stood by them then, I stand by them now and I’ll stand by them until my dying breath.”

The tense lines around Draco’s eyes smoothed. Harry thought he looked sad.

“If you can’t understand that, then perhaps we’d better not see each other again.”

Draco looked down at his hands, then reached out for the decanter, his hair swinging over his face and covering his eyes from Harry’s view. Harry’s heart was thumping in his chest. He edged himself along the bed to where Draco was sitting, and rested his hand over Draco’s where it lay on the crystal.

“Draco, I _can_ understand that. I think that’s possibly the only thing you could have said that would make any sense to me; and it makes so much sense to me. I don’t know how I’d feel if Teddy went off the rails, but I know I’d be right there with him.”

Draco hadn’t moved while Harry had been speaking. His hand was still just where it had been on the whisky decanter, his hair was still covering his face. Harry’s heart was in his throat.

“Draco, look at me?”

Harry gently curled his fingers around Draco’s and pulled his arm towards him, forcing him to turn his body. With the fingers of his other hand, he brushed Draco’s hair behind his ear. Draco’s face was still turned away, his eyes fixed on the Firewhiskey, but Harry could see that his eyes were glistening and the edges of his eyelids were pink.

Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s hair and cupped the back of his neck. Before he lost his nerve, he pressed his cheek against Draco’s, brought his nose up against his ear.

“Draco.”

Harry began nuzzling at Draco’s jaw, pulling the soft flesh of his neck gently between his teeth, licking under his ear. He could feel Draco trembling under his mouth. His other hand was still holding Draco’s, and he worked it around until their fingers were woven together.

Draco held on tight.

 

*

 _December 1999_

The next three months were among the happiest Harry could remember. After that first time, they had stopped meeting at the Leaky Cauldron. Instead, Draco Flooed or Apparated straight to Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t long until, apart from the weekends when Harry had Teddy over, Draco started arriving on Friday night and staying until Monday morning.

The sex was gentle at first. Draco was so unsure of himself, and Harry too in awe of this new connection between them to risk unsettling it by being too forceful. But gradually, they got to know each other’s bodies and desires, and they allowed their passions free rein. Draco took to dropping in at Grimmauld Place on weekday evenings as well, until there were often only one or two nights a week when he and Harry didn’t share a bed.

It was a great shock for Harry, then, when, one morning in mid-December, drinking coffee after two nights spent alone, he read the announcements page of the Daily Prophet.

## Daily Prophet Society Announcements

  
It is with regret that the Malfoy family announce the withdrawal of the Malfoy heir, Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, from society for the foreseeable future. The family respectfully request that he not be contacted, except in matters of the utmost import.  


#### Any urgent communications may be sent by owl to: Jennings and Henquist, Factors, League Alley, Salisbury.

  


#### Hilary Jennings and Jonty Henquist, 12th December, 1999

 

12th December

Draco

What’s going on?

Harry

 

13th December

Draco

What’s up? Are you ill?

Harry

 

14th December

Draco, if I don’t hear from you by the end of today I’m coming down to your Manor, and don’t think whatever bloody wards are on the place are going to stop me.

Harry

 

14th December

Leave me alone.

D

 

14th December

What?! What have I done?

Harry

 

15th December

You haven’t done anything. I just need to be left alone.

 ~~Ple~~

Please.

D

 

15th December

Draco, I’m really worried now. Please tell me what’s going on.

 ~~I l~~

I ne

I miss you.

Harry

 

#### Jennings and Henquist,  
Factors,  
League Alley,  
Salisbury.

 

#### To: Mr. H. J. Potter,  
12, Grimmauld Place,  
London.

 

#### 16th December, 1999

 

#### Dear Mr. Potter

  


#### On behalf of the Malfoy Estate, we request that you cease and desist from all communication with the Malfoy heir, Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, until notified by ourselves or by the Malfoy family themselves. Any attempt to contact the aforementioned Mr Malfoy may result in legal action being taken against you on grounds of harassment. We appreciate your compliance in this matter.

  


#### Yours sincerely,

 

#### Messrs. H. Jennings and J. Henquist  
for and on behalf of the Malfoy Estate

 

16th December

Draco

Fuck you too.

No love  
Harry

 

Harry couldn’t bring himself to send the last letter. He crumpled it into a ball and left it where it fell.

 

*

 _February 2000_

“Oh, come on, Harry. You’ve been like a wet weekend all winter.”

Ginny stood over Harry, hands on her hips.

She was right.

Harry’d hung around The Burrow almost every weekend since his exchange of letters with Draco, including his weekends with Teddy, and he knew he’d been no fun at all to be around. A three-a-side Quidditch game would raise his energy and even his spirits, and he knew he should join in, but he just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.

“Sorry, Gin. Maybe next time?”

Ginny huffed in irritation and stomped off out into the slush where George, Bill and Ginny’s friends were waiting.

Harry sighed

“You not going out, Ron?”

Ron looked at him over the top of his _Sunday Prophet_.

“Nah, too much to catch up on in the news of the screws.”

Next to Ron on the sofa, Hermione snorted from behind her current book on magical theory, but Harry gave Ron a grateful smile. He hadn’t told Ron and Hermione why he’d been so down lately, but they’d stuck by him – even when he was being a boring sod as he often was these days, sitting in the Weasleys’ squishiest armchair with a low-brow novel and a cup of cocoa.

The three of them sat in companionable quiet, the only sounds coming from the turning of pages and the slurping of drinks. Until, that was, Ron let out a hoot of triumphant laughter. Hermione tutted.

“Good grief, Ron, you nearly made me spill my tea.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“Come on then, tell us, what’s so funny?”

Harry looked at Ron expectantly, who’d buried his head in the newspaper again.

“Hold on a sec, I’ve just got to read this again to make sure I’m not seeing things.”

Harry sighed and got up out of his chair, moving to sit on the sofa at Ron’s other side.

“Let’s have a look then.”

“Be my guest! This is absolutely priceless. Oh, how the mighty are fallen.”

Hermione had joined them in reading the story now.

 

# Malfoy heir to bear!

  


## Draco Malfoy, 19, heir to the ill-gotten Malfoy Estate and its legacy of Dark magic, appears to have fallen foul of one of the pureblood traditions his family is so keen on.

  


### Our anonymous sources confirmed yesterday that young Mr. Malfoy is, in fact, pregnant. But is the pregnancy deliberate, or is it a joke at the Malfoys’ expense?

  


##### Our source has it on unquestionable authority that Mr Malfoy is nearly five months pregnant, thanks to the Sullarsenico charm – or curse, as some have dubbed it – devised to ensure the continuation of the blood-line when the only male heir refuses to marry due to a predilection for congress with his own sex.

  


##### If it has indeed been cast on Mr Malfoy as a joke, or even, perhaps, revenge, that would certainly explain his withdrawal from society two months ago. We can well imagine that the public discovery of his, obviously active, preferences in such a manner would shame his family, especially on top of the humiliations the Malfoys have experienced in the recent past.

  


##### We interviewed an old school-mate of Mr. Malfoy’s for his opinion.

  


##### “Everyone in Slytherin knew he was a ponce. We didn’t let on to anyone else of course, house honour and all that. You’d have thought he and Dumbledore would have got along better, come to think of it.

  


##### “I don’t think he’d ever told his parents he was, well, you know, that way inclined. Last I knew, he was all prepared to marry that Parkinson bint and have her pop out a few sprogs to keep the family sweet.”

  


##### So, it would seem that the Sullarsenico was cast on Draco Malfoy without his knowledge or consent. Who, though, would do such a thing? Surely those who have fought against the Malfoys in the past would not stoop so low?

  


##### No, this reporter thinks it far more likely that the casting was carried out by an ex-Death Eater who knew of Mr Malfoy’s sexual preferences, in anger at sighting him, in full public view, in the company of one Harry Potter, Twice Saviour of the Wizarding World and defeater of the Dark wizard Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort.

  


##### While the Prophet of course condemns the use of magic on wizards and witches without their consent, in this case, it cannot help but suggest that young Mr Malfoy is reaping the just desserts of his own and his family’s past actions.

  


##### Further, this reporter wonders, once again, what Harry Potter can have been thinking of, associating with such a dubious personality.

 

Harry sat back. His head span. His jaw hung slack and his mouth was dry. He could hardly breathe.

“Ha! The dirty little shirt-lifting Death Eater’s finally got what was coming to him!”

Ron was looking at him for agreement, a look of absolute glee on his face, but it was Hermione who spoke.

“Ron! Don’t use that word. You can insult Malfoy all you like, but not for being gay. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it.”

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione again.

“Okay, okay. But isn’t it great, Harry?”

Harry looked at him and said nothing. He felt completely blank.

Hermione hit Ron’s arm.

“Ron, you haven’t read to the bottom of the article, have you?”

“What? No, of course not. Why?”

“The Prophet’s using it as an excuse to have another go at Harry is why.”

Ron was quiet for a moment as he read.

“Oh, sorry, Harry. But the _Prophet_ ’s got a point, hasn’t it? You never did tell us why you were meeting up with Malfoy. What were you up to?”

“Ron!” Hermione’s voice expressed absolute exasperation. “First of all, we don’t know if the _Prophet_ ’s got its facts straight about Harry. Second of all, even if they have, it’s up to Harry who he meets up with.” She turned to Harry. “So, were you meeting up with Malfoy?”

Harry was gazing into space, as he had been throughout Ron and Hermione’s exchange.

“Harry?”

Harry registered the movement in his arm as Hermione gave him a gentle shake. He looked up at her.

“I think I need to go and lie down.”

He could hear the two of them talking under their breath as he left the lounge and headed for the stairs and the room that held ‘his’ bed, his home from home. He ducked through the door and threw himself on the narrow mattress. He stared at the ceiling for a while – it didn’t hold any wisdom for him, but the age stains in the wallpaper made interesting faces if he looked at them long enough.

A soft knock came from the door. Harry couldn’t help smiling a little.

“Come in, Hermione.”

Hermione entered the room and closed the door gently behind her. Harry patted the mattress next to him and she walked the two steps to the bed and sat down.

“It’s alright, you know. I meant what I said about it being up to you. I won’t pry if you don’t want to tell me.”

Harry shrugged.

“I met up with him in the Leaky Cauldron. He’s turned into a decent bloke.”

Hermione’s look was sceptical and she muttered something that sounded like _I’ll believe that when I see it_.

“So what’s up, Harry? The people who really matter haven’t stopped speaking to you because you saw Malfoy a few times.”

“It’s not that.”

Hermione took his hand in her own and stroked the back of it.

“Is it… is it the gay thing?”

Hermione’s voice was very quiet. Harry shrugged again.

“No-one’s going to think you’re gay just because you were seen in public having a drink with someone gay, you know.”

Harry snorted.

“I know _that_.”

Harry frowned and then relaxed. Hermione’s warm, dry fingers stroking his hand were comforting. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

“What if I am?”

“What if you’re…?” Hermione’s fingers stopped their stroking for a fraction of a second, then started again. “What if you’re gay, you mean?”

Harry nodded. He risked a glance at Hermione’s face. She looked calm and thoughtful.

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re Harry and I’m your best friend, full stop.”

She smiled at him and part of the tightness in his belly relaxed. He was feeling so out of touch with reality that he hadn’t even noticed it before.

“So, are you?”

“Hm?”

“Gay, Harry; are you gay?”

Harry chewed on his upper lip for a second, then, “Yeah?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

Hermione sounded amused.

“Well, I’ve only ever been with one man.”

She grinned.

“Did you like it?”

Harry felt his face go hot. He smiled in embarrassment and ducked his chin in to his chest.

“Yes. A lot.”

They grinned at each other for a moment, then Hermione’s face became thoughtful again.

“And do you think you could fall in love with a man.”

Harry closed his eyes again and let his head fall back against the pillow as the loss and anger he’d felt before Christmas came crashing in on him. He let the tears build up in his eyes and trickle down his cheeks – he had no reason to hide them in front of Hermione.

“Yes.”

His voice came out in a rough whisper.

“Oh, Harry.”

Hermione bent down and hugged him. He clung to the soft wool of her cardigan. They held each other in silence for a while. When they let go, Harry sat up and Hermione gave him a handkerchief to dry his eyes.

When he smiled at her, she patted his knee and said, “The _Prophet_ were only horrible about Malfoy being gay because he’s an ex-Death Eater. If they found out about you being gay, it’d probably become fashionable.”

How the _Daily Prophet_ would react to him being gay – if their reporters ever found out – was the last thing on his mind, but Harry nodded and chuckled all the same.

They hugged again and sat in silence together for a moment or two. Then Harry asked one of the least fearsome of the questions that had been rattling round his head since he’d read the article.

“Hermione, how does that _Sullarsenico_ spell work?”

 

*

The morning was dull and chilly, the green of the lawn washed almost to grey by the frost that still clung to it. The only source of colour was the flowers of the celandine that grew under the great beech trees at the edge of the woodland that surrounded the Lodge house of Malfoy Manor.

Draco rubbed his hands together. He could have cast a warming charm on himself, but he knew he would need the bite of the cold to keep his wits sharp and his mind clear this morning; Harry was due over any minute.

And there he was, being led down from the house by Minny. Draco’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Harry approaching across the pasture. A twist of pain that might have been guilt or might have been dread spread through his chest. Oh dear. This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

Once he had entered the second trimester of his pregnancy and his rational mind had started to reassert itself, Draco had realised that Potter didn’t need protecting from his Mother’s wrath, and that he probably wouldn’t care about any publicity either – whether negative or positive.

It had taken him so long to decide what to do. The thought of telling Harry himself… he could never make himself be that open, that vulnerable. But Harry not knowing, Harry thinking that Draco didn’t want him! The thought had made Draco feel even more nauseous than when he was having all-day morning sickness.

He had taken three whole days wrestling with the problem, and in the end, he’d slipped the medi-wizard who’d been attending him a bag full of galleons to go to the press with his story.

Draco had been so relieved when he’d got Harry’s owl, but now he was going to have to explain the whole thing to him, leave himself wide open and vulnerable, and hope that Harry would forgive him. Draco’s gut knotted up. He tried to relax – being this tense would be no good at all for the baby growing inside him, to say nothing of his indigestion – but Harry was almost within speaking range, the toes of his shoes bending the snowdrops in his path.

Draco looked intently at Harry’s face as he drew closer, trying to work out his expression. It looked determined, but on what he couldn’t tell. Harry’s stride was lengthening. Draco hunched his shoulders and hugged himself, still watching as Harry came to a halt in front of him and grabbed him by the upper arms, almost shaking him with the force of his gesture. Draco’s arms fell to his sides.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry’s face looked like thunder, but his voice was quiet, tender, as it had been when they’d made love for the first time. Draco swallowed, blinked back the wetness in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound defensive and just plain stupid.

That would have to do.

“Because I’m stupid?”

Harry made a sound halfway between a laugh and a hiccup and wrapped his arms around Draco, squeezing him so tight that his shoulders hurt. He just stood there and let Harry hold him.

“You idiot! Did you think I’d reject you? That I wouldn’t want you any more?”

With shaking fingers, Draco raised his hands and held on to Harry’s thick, wool cloak.

“I… I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and then Mother took over and… God, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much, Harry.”

And then Harry’s mouth was on his, and it was so warm, and so right, and felt so much like home.

When Harry pulled back, all Draco could see was his face, his eyes, gazing at him with such fierce openness. Draco made a small, high sound. He leant into Harry’s hand as he smoothed down his hair. He’d placed his other hand on Draco’s belly; it felt good, safe. Draco let himself relax at last.

“I stand by my family too, Draco.”

And Draco found himself smiling and crying at the same time.

“I love you, Harry Potter.”

Harry’s face brightened into the biggest grin Draco had ever seen, and he knew, he knew, as Harry’s mouth met his once again, that everything was going to be just fine.


End file.
